


Stigma

by unidentifiedhes



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Depression, M/M, mental health, not romanticized, relationship, self help
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-11-24
Updated: 2015-11-24
Packaged: 2018-05-03 06:13:28
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 397
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5279840
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/unidentifiedhes/pseuds/unidentifiedhes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"The moment my psychiatrist looked my parents straight in the eyes and announced I had depression, there was a shift in the air. They started treating me like I was a glass on the top shelf bound to break. I was sick of this life, being treated like I’m a sick child. With no motivation whatsoever, I managed to pick myself up and erase the stigma. Living with this illness has only opened my eyes even more."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Stigma

_Waking up at inhuman hours and feeling nothing but heavy eyelids and aching pains is the typical morning for me. Bellyaching about how “tired” I am before having my tea con leche, is a standard conversation mom and I have had every morn for the past year. You see, it is not just “tired” that I am feeling. It is pure exhaustion. Fatigue. Eyes watery and red for the majority of the day..I assume that my peers must think my allergies have taken all control. Reality is, I spend most of the time crying in the bathroom stall..stifling my tears with the beyond uncomfortable toilet paper..which is probably not helping the whole red eyes situation._

_The moment my psychiatrist looked my parents straight in the eyes and announced I had depression, there was a shift in the air. They started treating me like I was a glass on the top shelf bound to break. I was sick of this life, being treated like I’m a sick child. With no motivation whatsoever, I managed to pick myself up and erase the stigma. Living with this illness has only opened my eyes even more. Idiot jocks and bubble-head brunettes are the very culprits to my inspiration._

 

“Louis?”

My vision snapped up from my notebook and rested on the school social worker, Mr.Garabin. “Do you have anything to add?” I shifted my eyes around a room of my peers and cleared my throat, “I’m sorry, what was the question?” A few collective chuckles rung throughout the room as I stared in confusion at the social worker..before realizing the writing on the whiteboard behind Mr.G.

**“Essential Question: How do students with depression or anxiety deal with the hardships of high school?”**

I stared in silence, before a chestnut haired boy muttered to his collection of friends, “They don’t, they kill themselves before they get the chance.” The boys snickered and turned back to the front of the room. Anger fueled up inside me, but quickly dispersed. I put on my mask, a cookie cutter smile, and shook my head. "I don't know." I placed my head back down and continued writing.

_Stupid boys, one day they’ll wake up_.

 

I stood up and pushed my chair towards the desk. Walking out the doorway, I felt eyes on my back.

 

_i was too exhausted to look. -L_


End file.
